


What Reason Have You to Be Merry? What Reason Have You to Be Morose?

by hazelNuts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M, POV Derek, Past Derek Hale/Paige, sorry - Freeform, there's a lot of sad derek in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 05:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelNuts/pseuds/hazelNuts
Summary: It's too hard to stay in Beacon Hills for his birthday/Christmas, so Derek decides to pack his bags and leave. He doesn't get much further than his front door, because there's an angel waiting for him just outside.Derek’s been here before, looking back at his loft, hand clutching the strap of his bag. He doesn’t really want to go. His heart tugs at him, urging him to drop the bag, to go see Stiles. His head is telling him to go, to not make another home for himself just so he can lose it, again.He clenches his jaw and opens the door for the last time. He’s so distracted by the emotions swirling through him, he almost bumps into the woman waiting just outside. He stumbles back, instinctively scenting the air. His nostrils fill with the smell of ozone, blood and sunshine. It’s a strange mix, definitely not natural, but underneath it he can smell human. Something is possessing the body of this woman.





	What Reason Have You to Be Merry? What Reason Have You to Be Morose?

**Author's Note:**

> If you think I forgot any tags, please let me know in the comments.

Derek’s been here before, looking back at his loft, hand clutching the strap of his bag. He doesn’t really want to go. His heart tugs at him, urging him to drop the bag, to go see Stiles. His head is telling him to go, to not make another home for himself just so he can lose it, again.

He clenches his jaw and opens the door for the last time. He’s so distracted by the emotions swirling through him, he almost bumps into the woman waiting just outside. He stumbles back, instinctively scenting the air. His nostrils fill with the smell of ozone, blood and sunshine. It’s a strange mix, definitely not natural, but underneath it he can smell _human_. Something is possessing the body of this woman.

He drops his bag and takes a step back, shifting.

‘Who are you?’ he growls.

‘My name is Hannah,’ the thing says. Its voice is business-like, but pleasant, like the lawyers he and his sister had to deal with after the fire.

‘What’s her name?’

Its eyebrows rise, and it looks… proud?

‘Her name is Caroline. She agreed for me to use her as a vessel to contact you.’

‘She agreed?’ Derek can’t believe anyone would ever agree to be possessed by anything.

‘She’s a very kind person, and when I told her about you, she wanted to help.’

Derek’s lost. Nothing this thing says is making sense.

‘Let me start over. My name is Hannah. I’m an angel. I’m here to make sure you don’t make a mistake that you’ll regret for a long time.’

‘Why?’ He’s going to need more than a couple seconds to accept that angels are real, so he skips any questions he has about that and moves on to the next one. He can hear Stiles cursing him in his head for letting this opportunity pass by.

‘We’ve seen how hard you have all worked to make Beacon Hills safe. The angels have been so preoccupied with our own struggles of late, that we failed to see how much it hurt humanity. Your town is not the only one hit by waves of supernatural disasters these past years.’

‘Why me?’ There are people who Derek is sure deserve it more. People who haven’t been the architects of their own misfortune.

‘Because you’ve become so scared of happiness. I have a friend who was like that, who thought he didn’t deserve it, would ruin things if he even tried. He’s happy now. Things aren’t perfect, but nothing ever is. Not even us.’

Derek stares at the creature for a moment longer. Her words still don’t make a lot of sense to him, and he definitely has a hard time believing she’s an angel. Why is he only hearing about them now? He doesn’t think there is a single reference to real angels in his family’s collection of books. Things that have been mistaken for angels, like faeries and succubi and clever witches, but nothing about an actual heavenly host.

‘Do you need proof?’ Hannah asks. She hasn’t moved since Derek opened the door, didn’t even flinch when he shifted. Her hands are clasped together in front of her and her feet are slightly apart, like a guard or a soldier.

He thinks her question over. He’s not sure he’s ready to truly believe in angels, so he shakes his head.

‘How are you planning on helping me?’ he asks instead.

Hannah’s, or Caroline’s, eyebrows scrunch together briefly in a frown. ‘I’m not sure. Human emotions are still somewhat of a mystery to me.’ She’s silent for a moment. Then a small smile stretches across her lips. ‘Caroline suggests making you see how much you will be missed.’

‘You mean like _A Christmas Carol_? You’re going to be the angel of Christmases past, present and future?’ he snorts.

‘If that would help, then yes.’ Hannah’s hand flashes out and she grabs him by the wrist before Derek can move out of her reach.

His world tilts.

~

When they land, Derek feels dizzy and his stomach is doing somersaults. It’s not really landing, though; his feet never left the ground. It’s what he imagines getting off an elevator after a ten floor drop, feels like.

‘Are you okay?’ Hannah asks. ‘Time travel can be upsetting for some.’

‘I just need a second.’ Derek braces his hands on his knees and takes a couple deep breaths through his nose. The air is crisp and refreshing, and he quickly feels better. Then Hannah’s words filter through the dizziness. ‘Time travel?’

‘Well, the first stop in this story is Christmas past, isn’t it?’ Hannah tilts her head.

‘It is,’ Derek says, but he’s no longer paying attention to the angel next to him. If this is one of his past Christmases, it might be from before the fire. Maybe–

‘They can’t see us.’ Hannah’s voice is soft. ‘I’m sorry. Changing time is dangerous.’

Derek swallows and nods, trying not to let his disappointment show. Stiles has made him watch enough _Doctor Who_ and _Back to the Future_ to know she’s right, but how could he not have hoped?

No longer looking for his family, Derek takes in his surroundings. They’re standing in an alley, coloured lights, music, and the smells of pies and roasted chestnuts floating in from the street beyond. He takes another deep breath and walks into the festivities, Hannah close behind him.

It’s the Beacon Hills Yule Market. He always loved the market, went every year with his family, but he hasn’t been since the fire. The fact that the last time he went was so marked by sadness and he hadn’t been able to fully enjoy it, still hurts. It was only a couple weeks after Paige’s death. They’d made plans to go together, to share a bag of roasted chestnuts and drink hot chocolate sitting next to big Christmas tree in the town square.

As Derek walks further onto the market, recognizing the stalls and the people enjoying themselves, he realizes that this is _that_ last Christmas before the fire. He almost turns around to ask Hannah to take him away. Moments ago, he’d wanted nothing more than see his family again, but now he’s not sure he can handle it. Then he catches sight of himself by a hot chocolate stand. It might be nostalgia, but he still remembers it as the best cocoa he’s ever had. He moves closer, until he’s right next to his younger self. It’s weird and he can’t resist the urge to reach out, but his hand moves right through his shoulder.

Memories flood back as he watches and listens to himself ordering a cup, the lady saying he’s lucky because it’s the last of the cocoa and there’s only a little bit of whipped cream left. He isn’t so lucky when he asks if she still has marshmallows. His younger self nods sadly, pays the woman, and takes the marshmallowless cup of cocoa. Derek remembers thinking he might as well go home. He didn’t want to come, and he doesn’t want to ruin it for everyone else with his misery.

‘I’m sorry.’ The voice is young, but, like the big amber eyes, buzz cut, and button nose, immediately recognisable. A ten year-old Stiles Stilinski is standing behind sixteen year-old Derek. At the time, Derek had been confused by how sad the boy smelled; it seemed almost engrained in who he was. Now he knows this was Stiles’ first Christmas without his mother.

‘What?’ young Derek asks, frowning.

Fuck, he really does look like a sour-wolf when he does that. Not that he’ll ever admit that to Stiles.

‘I’m sorry about the marshmallows. I got the last ones.’ Stiles holds up his cup and takes a careful sip of his cocoa. At Derek’s confused expression Stiles adds, ‘You looked really upset about it.’

‘It’s– That’s not why I’m upset.’

‘Then why?’

‘I– A friend, she– It’s–‘ He can’t finish his sentence, grief and shame bubbling to the surface and blocking his throat. But Stiles must have recognized something because he reaches out with his small hand to grip Derek’s arm, and squeezes.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, softer this time, an understanding that is too adult-like for someone his age marking the words.

‘Thank you.’

‘We can split my marshmallows.’

Derek can’t help but chuckle as he watches himself protest and try to stop Stiles, while Stiles completely ignores him and does what he wants. He turns to the lady at the hot chocolate stand and asks for a spoon, then turns back to Derek, ordering him to lower his cup with an impatient wave of his hand. His tongue peeking out between his lips with concentration, he scoops half his marshmallows into Derek’s cup.

Derek watches the two boys with no small amount of amusement. Not that much has changed in nine years.

When Stiles is done, he returns the spoon to the lady. Before Derek can thank the boy, Stiles’ dad calls his name. Stiles waves and walks off, keeping a wary eye on his cup of hot cocoa so it doesn’t spill, leaving a young Derek staring after him. When Stiles is gone, young Derek looks at his cup of cocoa—now with marshmallows—and smiles. Surprise at the strange little boy’s actions is written all over his face, but that small gesture had made him feel better than he had all week.

Derek remembers Laura finding him that way, still staring at the marshmallows. She’d teased him about his teen angst finally having caused permanent brain damage.

‘I’d forgotten about this. I can’t believe I forgot about this, that I never realized that it was Stiles. I thought it was just some weird kid at the time, but he made me feel better than my family had for weeks,’ Derek says. His voice is strained. It’s hard to get the words out around the lump in his throat.

‘Because he cared,’ Hannah nods.

‘Or he felt guilty about the marshmallows,’ Derek snorts. ‘You know, he never actually shares food.’ Why did Stiles share with him that day? He wants to ask, but considering that he’s leaving, he doubts Stiles will ever want to talk to him again.

‘He cared,’ Hannah repeats with conviction.

Derek throws her a small smile. He doesn’t really believe her, but he’s grateful that she tries. ‘Where to next?’

‘Christmas present.’

~

Derek expects the lurch in his stomach, but it still takes him a minute to push the nausea down. When he’s got his breath back, and can keep his head up without wanting to double over again immediately, he recognizes the room and frowns. Why did Hannah take him to Scott’s room?

A knock on the door makes him jump.

‘Go away, Scottie,’ Stiles mumbles from the bed.

Why is Stiles in bed? Derek goes over to him, wanting to ask what’s wrong, to check that he isn’t sick or hurt, but remembers that Stiles can’t hear or see him. He probably just ate too much, Derek thinks. Of all the things that could happen to Stiles on Christmas Eve, that one is the most likely.

‘Everyone else has left. You wanna sleep here tonight?’ Scott asks, opening the door, ignoring Stiles’ request.

‘No. I should go home.’ Stiles pushes off the bed.

He looks sad, his shoulders hunched and watery eyes. He’s not just sad, he looks _heartbroken_. Derek’s chest tightens. He reaches out to put a hand Stiles’ shoulder to comfort him, but it goes right through. He growls in frustration.

‘He might still come,’ Scott suggests.

‘I don’t think so.’ Stiles grabs a present, neatly wrapped with a bow on top, off the desk. Derek wonders for who it is.

‘You can leave it here. We put all the others in a box.’

‘What’s the point!’ Stiles suddenly shouts. ‘He left! Again! Without telling m– us! He fucking left and I really hope he doesn’t come back!’

‘Stiles–‘

Stiles storms out of the bedroom, pushing past his friend before Scott can finish his sentence. Derek runs after him. For a moment he wonders how the hell he’s going to open the front door when Stiles slams it shut in front of him, then walks right through it. He follows Stiles to his Jeep and can just make out the name on the present’s label before Stiles drives off: _Derek_.

‘That was for me,’ he whispers in surprise. He can’t help a small smile when he turns to Hannah, who followed him outside. ‘Stiles has a present for me.’

‘I thought that was customary with friends?’ Hannah asks, tilting her head.

‘It is,’ Derek nods. He has presents for everyone in the pack, but it hadn’t really occurred to him that the pack might have presents for him, too.

 _We put all the others in a box._ Derek runs back into the house, to the living room. Melissa is clearing away the last scraps of paper and crumbs off the coffee table, the clinking of glasses comes from the kitchen as Scott does the dishes. Derek makes for the small and overly decorated Christmas tree. There are a couple presents under it, just the ones that Melissa and Scott got for each other.

Next to the Christmas tree is a cardboard box. Derek drops to the floor next to it and looks inside. There are presents in all shapes and sizes, some neatly wrapped with colourful ribbons tied in perfect bows, others are wrapped so messily Derek can’t even make out the shape of what’s inside it. One thing they all have in common, though, is that they’re all addressed to him.

He never seriously considered going to the pack’s Christmas dinner. He bought presents for everyone, but actually giving them in person didn’t cross his mind. Once he’d made up his mind to leave, he figured the pack would find them the next time they came to the loft with questions about werewolf lore. He thought they’d asked him out of curtesy, because they knew he’d be alone otherwise.

He barely registers it when Hannah sits down next to him, his mind too occupied with the heartbroken look on Stiles’ face. His own heart is breaking in response. He doesn’t dare let himself think of the looks on everybody else’s faces when they realized he was a no-show.

‘So, I guess it’s on to our next stop?’ he sighs.

‘If you think you’ve seen enough, yes.’

‘After this it’s not hard to guess what comes next. I’ve read the book, seen the movies. They all end the same.’

‘How do you think your future Christmases will look?’ Hannah asks. There is genuine curiosity in her eyes.

‘The graveside, my funeral that no one attends, looters taking my few possessions. Nobody realizing that I’m dead. Well, that or celebrating it,’ he says self-deprecatingly.

Hannah squints at him and shakes her head. ‘I see many futures for you, Derek Hale, but that one is not amongst them. And only a few have you dying or being buried on your birthday.’

‘So what _is_ in my future?’

‘There are many possibilities. The future isn’t a straight line, only the past is. Roads double back, ones that split at a crossroads reunite later, and some run so parallel that they’re almost the indistinguishable form one another.’

‘Which will you show me?’

Hannah gets that distant look in her eyes that mean she’s communicating with Caroline. Derek waits patiently for the two to finish their exchange.

‘Caroline says it would be most beneficial if I showed you something nice, something that you might feel is impossible.’

~

Derek can’t tell if the nausea is from the trip or nerves. _Something you might feel is impossible._ Laughter and the jingly sounds of Christmas music filters through the ringing in his ears.

‘Derek,’ Hannah says softly, squeezing where she’s still holding his shoulder. ‘Open your eyes.’

Hope is something that Derek rarely allows himself anymore. They’ve been dashed so often, so mercilessly. But he doesn’t think Hannah would be so cruel, would she? He steels himself, then opens his eyes.

The force of the brightness and happiness makes him stumble, and if Hannah hadn’t still been holding on to him, he’s sure he would’ve stumbled through a wall. The Christmas tree with handmade decorations, pictures lined up on walls and dressers, a swing set in the backyard, it all points to a happy family.

He doesn’t have time to fully process what he’s seeing before something small and green runs right through him. He jumps back, landing in the couch. He can’t feel it, but the thought is strange enough that he takes another step so he’s now behind the couch.

The small green thing is a little girl in a green sweater and no trousers or skirt. She’s fiddling with the handle of the backdoor, trying to get it open. Derek looks at the snow in the backyard. _She can’t go outside like that!_ But long before the girl succeeds in opening the door, something big and red grabs her around her waist and throws her over his shoulder.

‘Gotcha !’

The little girl squeals in delight.

Derek expected it, but it still knocks the breath out of him when the man turns around and he sees his own face, a little older maybe, with a slightly bigger beard.

‘Papa!’ the little girl shouts. ‘Daddy is trying to put my hair in pigtails!’

Derek lets out a shaky breath. _Papa. Daddy._

‘I thought you liked pigtails?’ older Derek says, his daughter squirming in his hold.

‘That was three days ago,’ the girl says.

‘Ah,’ Derek nods. ‘So what do we like now?’

‘French braids!’ the girl crows.

Older Derek’s face falls. ‘Daddy doesn’t know how to do a French braid, sweetie.’

‘Auntie Kira does.’

Another man steps into the living room, flour on his cheek and a towel slung over his shoulder.

‘What do I hear about pigtails and French braids?’ Stiles asks.

Stiles’ hair is still a mess, and unlike Derek he’s clean shaven. The thought that even in his thirties Stiles still can’t grow a full beard, makes Derek snicker. Stiles is more obviously aged than Derek, with lines above his brows and crinkles forming by his eyes: laughter lines. He’s filled out as well, especially in his shoulders and thighs. It doesn’t look like it’s all muscle, but a softness that happens when you’re too busy being happy to worry about diets and exercise schedules. He looks amazing, _happy_ , and as he places a hand on older Derek’s lower back, the knowledge that this version of himself made Stiles so happy, makes Derek’s chest feel too small for his heart.

‘Pigtails are out. It’s all about French braids now,’ older Derek informs older Stiles.

Stiles looks at Derek, panic behind his eyes. ‘Uhm…’

‘Kira knows how to French braid,’ Derek reassures him. ‘But we still have to brush your hair, or Auntie Kira won’t be able to braid it,’ he adds, directing this at his daughter— _their_ daughter, his and Stiles’.

The girl deflates and huffs, ‘Fine,’ sounding exactly like Stiles. She starts squirming in older Derek’s hold again, and this time he puts her down. ‘I want to use my Wonder Woman brush!’ she yells as she runs up the stairs.

Older Derek and older Stiles exchange fondly exasperated looks.

‘I’ll look up some braiding tutorials before going to bed,’ Stiles says.

‘Or tomorrow morning,’ Derek says. ‘I’m not handling her on my own on Christmas Morning, because you were up watching videos all night.’

Older Stiles laughs and presses a kiss to older Derek’s cheek. ‘Fair enough. You should probably go upstairs before she gets her brush stuck in her hair again.’

‘Daddy!’

‘Too late,’ older Derek grimaces. ‘Coming!’ He races up the stairs, flipping off a chuckling Stiles as he goes.

‘And put some pants on her,’ Stiles yells as he goes back to the kitchen, humming along to the unfamiliar Christmas song on the radio.

‘Did I throw this future away?’ Derek asks. He resists the urge to follow himself or Stiles. Even that small moment he just witnessed has left his mind spinning. He’s not sure he can handle any more domestic bliss, no matter how much he wants to see it.

‘What do you mean?’ Hannah asks.

‘When I didn’t go to the party, did I throw this away?’ Derek clarifies, looking at the angel.

Hannah’s smile is soft, but a little sad. ‘Do you think there is only one future where you are happy?’

‘So there’s still a chance?’

Their conversation is interrupted by the doorbell.

‘Uncle Scottie!’ the girl shouts from upstairs.

‘You can go downstairs when we’re finished with your hair!’ older Derek admonishes.

Derek smiles and turns back to Hannah.

‘You still have a thousand chances for a future like this,’ Hannah assures him. ‘Even if you do leave tonight, there will be chances.’

The relief is so strong, tears spring into Derek’s eyes. ‘Can you take me home now?’

‘Of course.’

~

Derek opens his eyes to an empty apartment. He’s lying on the couch. The presents he bought are in bag on the floor. The light shining through the windows is dim. It’s either early in the morning or late in the afternoon. He sits up and rubs his face with his hands. _Did all that really happen? Or was it just a dream?_

A string of muttered curses and footsteps stomping up the stairs, pulls his attention to the door. It slams open, revealing a furious Stiles.

‘You’re here,’ Stiles says. Some of the fury drains out of him. ‘I thought you’d left.’

The image of the older Stiles overlaps with the Stiles before him, and Derek can’t move. It was so vivid. It felt so real. _But how can it have been real?_

Stiles closes the door and walks towards him. He glances to the side, and almost stumbles when he sees Derek’s packed bags. His jaw tightens and he crosses his arms over his chest.

‘So you are leaving,’ he says.

‘I…’ Derek has to work hard to gather himself. He feels so disoriented. ‘I don’t know.’

‘How can you not know? You’re either leaving, or you’re not.’ Stiles points at the bags. ‘And it kinda looks like you are.’

‘I…’ Derek looks around his apartment for any sign it was real. Everything looks the way it always has. Then he looks back to Stiles, the only thing he’s sure that is real.

‘Derek?’ Stiles doesn’t look angry anymore. His eyebrows are now scrunched together in worry. He approaches slowly, and sits next to Derek on the couch, his eyes fixed on Derek’s face. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I think I was sleeping?’

Stiles gently cradles his face, forcing Derek to look him in the eye. ‘Did something happen?’ he asks. There’s an edge of panic in his voice and scent. He lowers his hands to carefully pat down Derek’s chest. ‘Are you hurt?’

Derek takes Stiles’ hands to stop the examination. He looks down at Stiles hands, feels the warm but rough skin of Stiles’ palms against his own, and lets it ground him.

‘I think I was dreaming. It felt so real,’ he finally says. ‘What time is it?’

‘It’s 6AM on Christmas morning.’

‘You got up before 6AM?’ Derek asks, raising his eyebrows.

‘I didn’t really sleep,’ Stiles admits with a shrug, then he levels his gaze at Derek. ‘I was kinda pissed at you, you know. For not showing up.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Stiles nods. He squeezes Derek’s hand. At some point, they let go of one hand, but intertwined the fingers of the other.

‘Looks like you slept, though.’ Stiles ruffles Derek’s hair with his free hand. ‘Is that why you didn’t show up? Or… Or is that why you haven’t left yet?’

Derek leans back and stares out of the big windows. He could lie, tell Stiles what he hopes to hear, but that’s not a good start of whatever it is they’ve just begun.

‘It’s why I haven’t left,’ he admits. He turns to Stiles, who is picking invisible lint off his jeans. ‘And I’m glad I didn’t,’ he adds. ‘I would’ve been kicking myself for being such an idiot not five miles out of Beacon Hills.’

Stiles shoulders’ drop and a smile curls his lips. ‘So you’re definitely not leaving anymore?’

Derek shakes his head.

‘Want me to help you unpack?’

Derek chuckles and shakes his head again. ‘Actually…’ He hesitates. He’s so used to being on his own, to keeping up appearances, that the words get stuck in his throat.

Stiles nods encouragingly.

‘This is my first Christmas back in Beacon Hills,’ Derek continues, powering through several of the walls he’s built. ‘I’m not sure it’s good for me to be alone. Can I stay with you?’

‘Of course,’ Stiles says, his eyes bright.

‘It’s not going to be a problem with your dad?’

Stiles snorts. ‘You should’ve seen his face when he realized you weren’t coming, it looked like that time I told him he couldn’t have donuts anymore.’ He squeezes Derek’s hand. ‘He’ll be thrilled, even if he’s gonna be all gruff about it.’

Derek repacks his bag for a stay at someone’s house instead of a road trip, changes clothes, grabs the bag with the presents for the pack, and joins Stiles by the front door, where he grabs Stiles’ hand again.

‘You know, if this’—Stiles holds up their intertwined fingers—‘turns out to be because something dropped on your head, I’m gonna be really disappointed.’

Derek rolls his eyes.

‘I’m just saying,’ Stiles continues as they walk down the stairs. ‘Maybe you should get Melissa to check you when we bring her and Scott their presents. Can’t hurt.’

‘Stiles, I’m fine.’

‘You’ve said that with half a tree sticking out of your chest. Excuse me if I’m not taking your word for it.’

Derek looks at Stiles. There’s something tight in the way he’s walking, a tension that Derek doesn’t understand. Then suddenly he does. His next step falters. Stiles is worried. It’s probably not the first time, but it’s the first time Derek’s noticed. It feels nice, to have someone worry about him again.

‘Okay,’ he says.

Stiles relaxes, and fills Derek in on everything that happened the night before as they continue to Stiles’ car. Derek throws his bags on the backseat, but when he wants to step into to the car, he stops. There’s a present, neatly wrapped with a bow on top, lying on the passenger seat. His name is written on the label.

Stiles takes it off the seat, so Derek can sit.

‘Happy birthday, Derek,’ he says, giving Derek the present with a tentative smile.

‘Thank you,’ Derek whispers past the lump in his throat. He carefully takes off the bow and the paper. It's a picture of the pack, of _his_ pack. Everyone’s there, including him, smiling or laughing. ‘Thank you,’ he repeats, looking up at Stiles. He puts the wrapping paper back in place so the picture and the frame won’t get damaged, and puts it in his bag.

Stiles starts the car, a smile still on his face. He turns on the radio and Christmas carols fill the air. Derek watches him as he hums along and taps out the rhythm on the steering wheel.

Whatever stopped him from leaving last night, whether it was a dream, an angel, or something else, Derek will forever be grateful for it, and he’s excited to see what future he’s creating for himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://fandom-madnessess.tumblr.com/).


End file.
